How Far Will This Go?

Posted on May 27, 2025 by smaxreisert

With Harvard University so prominently in the news in recent days, my memory has been sent back to the years I lived in Cambridge, in various places on the Harvard campus. One of the buildings that has found itself in the background of many news photos and video footage is Matthews Hall, where I lived for the last year I served as an in-residence academic advisor for first year students in Harvard Yard. The statue of John Harvard (which we all know, of course, is not really John Harvard) also sits in the background of a lot of photos and videos. That’s the location of my favorite wedding photo, taken just after our marriage ceremony in Memorial Church.

Given the current news, I’m thinking a lot about when I first moved onto the Harvard campus, into Divinity School housing (which has not been in any news photos or video footage!). My assigned roommate was a young woman from China. She wasn’t there for move-in day. Or the day after. Or the day after that. There were a lot of questions swirling around about her arrival, and whether she would arrive at all.

It was 1989, just a few months after Tiananmen Square, where a massive and violent government crackdown followed large demonstrations the previous spring. The demonstrations protested against such things as: government corruption; economic policies that benefited some but harmed many others; and, restrictions on political participation. The demonstrations also called for democratic processes, due process, freedom of speech, freedom of the press and greater political freedom in general. It’s still unclear how many demonstrators were killed in the crackdown.

Eventually, my roommate arrived and so began a year of considerable learning about many topics, both in and outside the classroom. In Divinity Hall, in addition to my Chinese roommate, there was a woman from Africa next door, and a Buddhist monk from Vietnam down the hall. There were other international students as well, and students from all over the United States. We were a building of people with various shades of skin color, many nationalities and religious affiliations. There was also a variety of sexual orientations and ages.

In addition to the chapel in which Ralph Waldo Emerson delivered his famous “Divinity School Address,” Divinity Hall featured, when I lived there, fairly traditional dorm rooms as well as a large communal kitchen in the basement. At the beginning of the school year, students living in the building were invited to sign up for the Monday Supper Club. Those in the Club were then paired up and each Monday one pair would make dinner for the entire group. I don’t remember a lot about the dining adventures that I experienced, although I remember being introduced to kimchi (wasn’t a fan) and a remarkable array of dishes that featured tofu.

That all happened a long time ago, but now I can’t help but pull up those memories from that year, from way back in the memory vault. I remember the discussions that took place as we waited to see if my roommate would be allowed to leave China and start a graduate program at the Div School. The events that took place in Tiananmen Square the previous spring seemed so alien and strange. How could a government respond so violently to its own people, especially when so many of them were so young and were demonstrating for things that seemed so basic to human existence and flourishing? How could a government send troops and tanks not only to intimidate but to shoot without warning? How could it be that a people gathered to inspire freedom, only to find brutal repression instead?

With all that is now happening in the United States, as we see our rights and freedoms chipped away, as the government seizes more control over the people, and as we witness the baffling attacks on world-renowned universities, like Harvard, should we start wondering when there might be a similar crackdown in the U.S, akin what happened at Tiananmen Square? Will we, at some point, see a violent confrontation between the military, sent by government authorities, and American citizens? Are all of those things that seemed so alien and strange to me back in 1989 soon to be not so alien or strange in this part of the world, that has for so long been a beacon of freedom and democracy?

I know that some who read this will consider it an exaggeration, and an over-reaction, to what is happening. I hope I am over-reacting. But, so many of the things that have happened in the last not even six months are unsettling and alarming. And, with so many in the government— Congress, in particular— going along with the Administration on almost every matter, twisting democratic institutions and norms so much that there’s not much democracy left, it’s no wonder that my head is going down roads it never has in the past. I’ll hope that I’m just engaging in a little doom-dreaming, but I’ll also continue to pay attention, and pray that it doesn’t go nearly as far as I fear.

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Thirty Years On

Posted on May 13, 2025 by smaxreisert

Today is the thirtieth anniversary of my ordination. The big day happened after a long ordination process (I think everyone had a long process in the Metropolitan Boston Association of the then Massachusetts Conference of the United Church of Christ; the Association was notorious for putting candidates for ordination through the ringer), at First Parish Congregational Church, United Church of Christ, in Wakefield, Massachusetts (a church that is no longer connected to the United Church of Christ). It was the church where I had gown up and had spent countless hours, especially when I was a teenager— teaching Sunday School, serving on the Christian Education Committee, and participating in the youth group.

Reflecting on these thirty years involves the sorting through of a lot of memories, of course. It also involves a lot of wondering: How much longer will I serve as an active pastor? What highlights can I remember? What occasions would I prefer to forget? Am I adequately prepared for what is yet to come?

On that big day in that big church on May 13, 1995, there are a few things that I still hold in my memory: a couple of my Sunday School teachers proudly flitting about; a few old youth group buddies serving as ushers; my cranky grandmother loudly declaring, during the service, that she was not so impressed with the soloist whom everyone in the family had raved about (“What’s so great about her? She only had to sing one word!”)1; my parents, husband and still fairly new in-laws (who were also very new to anything outside of Roman Catholicism) all supportive and encouraging; a raft of Div School friends who took part in the ceremony; the beaming former pastor, who insisted on giving the “Charge to the Pastor,” and went on to talk mostly about himself (no surprise); and the current pastor of the church, at that time, with something of a smile pasted on his face (he was not a fan of women being ordained). I also remember the gravity of the laying on of hands and the stoles that were presented to me. It was a very full day.

I’m sure that on that day, I also had a few big visions floating in my head, working with congregations (maybe not huge, but big enough) of people searching for meaning and purpose, endeavoring to make the world a better place. I also knew at the time that I was well-prepared for the not-so-dreamy side of church life, in the bickering and ugliness that can be part of any gathered community (First Parish had plenty of that; I felt like I had learned from the best, or the worst, depending on your perspective on that sort of thing). I was full of heady notions as well as an accumulation of knowledge (theology, scripture, church history, etc.) along with a grounding in experience (a field education assignment with homeless and poor women and then an assignment at a small Cambridge church that had led to a bigger role).

Over the years, I’ve been made aware of the value of my education, as well as its deficiencies. Educational programs for pastors really ought to include such things as plumbing and basic electricity, for instance.

Certainly among the biggest surprises of my career is the great diminishment of Mainline churches and denominations. Although the church that I was serving at the time of my ordination was small, there were plenty of much bigger churches in the area. And, the community of clergy, in the United Church of Christ and beyond, was robust and active. I remember attending two clergy events each month (a UCC “sector” breakfast for the MBA clergy in and around Cambridge, Somerville, Medford, etc. and an ecumenical lunch for Harvard and Porter Square clergy in Cambridge). Local UCC association meetings were large events that drew from the eighty to ninety churches in the Metropolitan Boston Association alone.

Thirty years later, and now with my standing in a UCC association about three hours north of Boston, I no longer attend monthly clergy gatherings in and around Hallowell, Maine, as clergy do not have time for such things, or do not have the inclination. Most, if not all, of the Mainline churches in Central Maine are small to tiny. Some churches have no clergy at all. Several churches have closed altogether. A few others have sold their buildings (or are trying to sell) and have moved into other churches or other locations.

For the challenges that Old South faces, as we make our way from a well-known church, integral part of the fabric of community life in a small Maine city to a tiny congregation, of mostly people who do not live in Hallowell, in a too-large campus that we can no longer afford and maintain, I am aware that I’ve traveled a long way from the images that swirled through my head on May 13, 1995 and I’m not sure I’m prepared for what’s necessary now, and into the near future. I never took a class on how to make the sorts of choices and decisions that we now must make, or how to shepherd a congregation through a change that requires such a basic re-ordering and re-assessment of its identity.

Beyond the local church that I serve, the great diminishment of Christian churches and denominations in the United States has been a bewildering experience to witness— from the inside. While there are plenty of very good reasons for people to have left the Church in response to the terrible abuses and scandals that have been on display over the course of the last several decades, there are other good reasons for people to have stayed attached. As I listen to people reflect on their lack of connection, their sense of isolation, the sense of spiritual emptiness, the loss of community, that I’ve heard and read mostly through news media, I can’t help but look at the Old South community and wonder why the sense of community and connection that is an essential aspect of church life is not perceived by those outside— how else can we wave our arms to offer welcome?

As Old South continues to try to sell its sanctuary building, it’s been interesting to hear from a few potential buyers who wish to make the building into some sort of “community center or resource,” as if that’s not what it already is. Over thirty years, this is probably one of the most demoralizing elements of the journey, this realization that the local church is not valued or even recognized any longer as a vital component of society. We are all poorer for it, in so many ways.

  1. The soloist sang “Alleluia” from “Exsultate Jubilate” by W.A. Mozart. ↩︎
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The Way Ahead

Posted on May 6, 2025 by smaxreisert

Based on the sermon from Old South Congregational Church, United Church of Christ, Hallowell, Maine, 5/4/2025.

Meanwhile Saul, still breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord, went to the high priest and asked him for letters to the synagogues at Damascus, so that if he found any who belonged to the Way, men or women, he might bring them bound to Jerusalem. Now as he was going along and approaching Damascus, suddenly a light from heaven flashed around him. He fell to the ground and heard a voice saying to him, “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?” He asked, “Who are you, Lord?” The reply came, “I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting. But get up and enter the city, and you will be told what you are to do.” Acts 9:1-6 (NRSV)

“Why are you persecuting me?” That’s what Jesus asked. “Why are you persecuting me?”

In this Easter season, we consider and reflect on how the Risen Christ appeared to and spoke to his closest followers, and, in today’s case, one of his opponents, but soon to be closest followers.

Here’s Saul.  A Jewish man, active in defending the Jewish faith.  And, he’s found some sort of purpose in going after Jesus followers, not yet known as Christians: “Meanwhile Saul, still breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord, went to the high priest and asked him for letters to the synagogues at Damascus, so that if he found any who belonged to the Way, men or women, he might bring them bound to Jerusalem.”

Saul isn’t messing around.  He’s out to damage this fledging new thing, this new enthusiasm for a so-called Messiah. And there he is out on the road to Damascus.  A light “ from heaven” flashes.  He falls to the ground, and then there is THE VOICE, “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?”

Not my followers.  Not the faithful.  Not my friends.  ME.

Why do you persecute me?

Here is this bold and remarkable statement, this question from the voice from heaven, this one who then identifies himself as Jesus.

When you persecute the followers of Christ, when you go after them, when you make their lives needlessly difficult and ugly—and I don’t think it’s a stretch that this statement, this question, actually goes well beyond those who identify as followers, since Jesus was very clear on the Greatest Commandment, that we are to love God and love neighbor – that when Saul persecutes, when anyone persecutes, you are persecuting Jesus, the risen Christ.

It’s a bold, remarkable statement, and one that we ought to keep close to our heart, that it may inform not only our actions, but who we are as people, that when we persecute, when we treat others as less than human, when we strip others of dignity by dehumanizing and degrading, we are persecuting Jesus himself, the risen Christ.

And, on the flip side, when we ourselves—each of us and all of us together—experience persecution, a stripping away of our dignity, that Jesus is with us, that the Risen Christ is with us.

It is a profound and remarkable statement that we might have missed and a moment that we must allow to sink in, that it may find a home in how we think, in how we feel, in how we consider our own selves, how we reflect on the meaning and purpose of being a congregation that declares Jesus Christ as our Head, and then how we interact with the world that we inhabit, and the expectations we have for our communities, country and world for how human beings ought to be treated.

It’s also worth a moment to consider how the followers of Jesus are mentioned in this passage.  According to the Gospel writer Luke, who also wrote Acts, the early followers of the risen Christ, called themselves followers of The Way.  They were not Christians.  They were followers of the Way.  They were not defined by a specific doctrine, dogma, creed, or book (there’s no New Testament in the first century!).  They are not defined by the place where they congregate, or anything that is a static, motionless thing.

They are followers of The Way. They move.  There’s activity and motion.  There are defined by who they are and how they love, how they connect, how they care, how they are continually trying to move closer to the Risen One.

So, in these days, as we continue to grieve the difficult decisions we’ve had to make as a church, as we express our sadness about putting our building up for sale, let us take stock not only of what we are losing, but what we are gaining—a new appreciation for being people who worship a Savior who is not stuck in time, but One who continues to move and breathe, active with us, sometimes ahead, sometimes alongside and sometimes behind, pushing us into a new way that feels weird and uncomfortable.

In the midst of our grief, there is also joy in our new awareness, our new sense of who we are as followers of the Risen One, as we continue to move closer to the One who brings us together.

We are Easter people.  And Easter people are alert to the new and usually surprising ways that the Risen One comes to us and how he makes himself known.

It may sometimes feel that, in our smaller numbers, that we are not doing it right, but it just might be that we are exactly where we are meant to be.  And, once we are able to release ourselves from this building that causes us so much worry, that drains so much of our time, energy and resources, that we will be poised to be yet another embodiment of who and what the Risen Christ is calling us to be. May we keep our ears, our minds, our hearts open, listening. 

May we open wide the doors of our imagination, mindful of how the Risen Christ speaks to us now. We may not experience a flash of divine light, but if we are attentive, it might be something just as extraordinary, or it might be in a completely normal moment, or in a still, small voice: recognition. And, an invitation into what’s next.

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Looking for the Living

Posted on April 24, 2025 by smaxreisert

Easter Sermon 2025. Scripture, Luke 24:1-12 (CEB):

24 Very early in the morning on the first day of the week, the women went to the tomb, bringing the fragrant spices they had prepared. 2 They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, 3 but when they went in, they didn’t find the body of the Lord Jesus. 4 They didn’t know what to make of this. Suddenly, two men were standing beside them in gleaming bright clothing. 5 The women were frightened and bowed their faces toward the ground, but the men said to them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? 6 He isn’t here, but has been raised. Remember what he told you while he was still in Galilee, 7 that the Human One[a] must be handed over to sinners, be crucified, and on the third day rise again.” 8 Then they remembered his words. 9 When they returned from the tomb, they reported all these things to the eleven and all the others. 10 It was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women with them who told these things to the apostles. 11 Their words struck the apostles as nonsense, and they didn’t believe the women. 12 But Peter ran to the tomb. When he bent over to look inside, he saw only the linen cloth. Then he returned home, wondering what had happened.

The great 20th century Protestant theologian, Karl Barth, once declared that pastors should preach with the Bible in one hand and the newspaper in the other.  I wonder what he would say during times like these?  How much time do we have?

There’s a lot going on, and much of it connected to who WE are and what we are doing today, but we’ll get to that in a minute.

A few weeks ago, my husband and I were looking for a movie to see, out, in a theater.  Between New Year’s and Easter is a time for when we are not so much anticipating seeing a particular new film, or two.  We are more apt to check out what the Maine Film Center is offering and pick one—sometimes a film that looks really good to us and sometimes the film that seems the least bad.  A few weeks ago, I found myself unfamiliar with the offerings for that weekend.  So, I started looking at reviews.  For one of the films, the New York Times reviewer didn’t exactly give it a glowing review, but commented that it was “winsome and inoffensive.”  Bingo.  That’s the film we needed to see.  Winsome and inoffensive.  Just the thing, especially in times like these. 

Winsome and inoffensive is a perfectly reasonable quest when choosing a film, or a television show, or a book, etc. It’s not something that any of us should be searching for, though, this morning.  Let’s be clear about that.  Easter is not winsome, and it is not unoffensive.

We may be gathered in a lovely sanctuary, with colorful plants.  We may find ourselves charmed by familiar music, the pastels that are featured on many an outfit, the hats on some of the ladies, so we may be lured into thinking that today could very well be about something winsome and inoffensive.  It is not.

Let’s start with the women.  In Luke’s story, there’s a small group of women—Mary Magdalene, Joanna, and Mary, mother of James and others— who bravely venture to the tomb.  They are going there to care for the body, possibly the spices are meant to cover the odor for people who want to visit the tomb, to spend some time in prayer and devotion regarding the terrible events that led to the crucifixion.  But, of course, the tomb is empty. Once they are informed by the two men in gleaming clothes that the body is not there because Jesus has risen, the women then go to the apostles, who have locked themselves away, fearing that they will be next, to share the important news.

The men receive the news with more than skepticism.  The translation says “nonsense.”  Other translations say “idle tales,” or something along those lines. Some commentators suggest that the word here is meant to convey something like 1st century “BS.”

This is not a winsome and inoffensive moment.  In the 1st century and before and since, there’s a terrible habit to view women as generally untrustworthy when it comes to matters of importance.  It’s not only a problem, it’s not backed up by scripture.  Luke’s Gospel champions women, especially those women connected to Jesus, from beginning to end.  Women are trustworthy and more than that, if it hadn’t been for the women, Christianity may never have gotten started, with no one to tell the tale of the empty tomb.

Now, let’s turn to the question that is asked of the women by the strange men in gleaming bright clothing, “Why do you look for the living among the dead?”  This is a question of profound significance and one that leads us into places where we find that the message, again, is not winsome and it is definitely not unoffensive.

One of the Bible commentaries that I read this past week offered something that I found especially thought-provoking:

The risen Jesus is particular. Unlike some all-encompassing, cosmic force—the resurrected Jesus is not everywhere, all at once. He has gone missing from the place one expects him to be. “Why do you look for the living among the dead?” the two lightning-clad men ask the women. “He is not here” (verse 5). The weighty corollary to Easter faith is that, if our Savior lives, the tombs of certainty, finality, and respectability that we have gifted him will no longer be his dwelling. To encounter a living God, embodied and active in the world, requires that we face something more profound than a happy end. It requires that we face a Love stronger than death, particular in its commitment to lives lost and witnesses disregarded. [Jerusha Matsen Neal, workingpreacher.og]

This perhaps jumped out at me as we observe, through a stunning number of stories that have made it to the news media, even as so many have not, the disregard of persons, the aggressive assault on humanity, all supposedly in the name of freeing our country from very bad people who have come to this country, in so many cases, to escape war, natural disaster, terror, violence and chaos.  It’s one of the things that so often gets lost in the debates about immigrants—legal and illegal—that most of them very likely would have loved to have stayed where they were, where they were born perhaps, or close by, a place where their families were and maybe still are, where they had roots, but then something happened—occasionally something related to natural disaster, but more often related to human made disaster that brought violence, war, fear, terror and chaos, a possible forced departure from home, or in other cases a lack of food and clean water, etc, etc.

In the radical determination of the current Administration to rid our country of these supposed undesirable people—again, some here illegally, but many here legally and following the rules—we are witnessing a brazen assault on persons, on humanity, that people are being picked up and, in an alarming number of instances, have then disappeared.  There are others who have received emails informing them that they must leave the country within ONE WEEK.  In some of these instances the person is a US citizen, born and raised here.  Yet the notice declares that the government will find the person and kick them out, without a hearing, without any due process.  These notices offer no method of contact to clear up the error that was made.

Let me be clear here.  We, in the United States, have plenty to figure out when it comes to migrants, immigration, etc—legal and illegal.  What I’m talking about here is the treatment of, the perception of, the rhetoric regarding, those deemed “other,” that it has become all too common to treat those “others,” to talk about others, as less than human, as undeserving of any sort of respect or dignity, and certainly not kindness or compassion.

If this were some blatantly secular Administration, it might be one thing.  But, the current Administration boldly declares itself as closely tied with Christian values, Christian teachings, Christian morality.  In fact, the White House Faith Office is located in the West Wing.  Conservative and evangelical pastors are basking in their newfound access to the President.

Last Sunday, April 13, the White House issued a bold proclamation for Holy Week.  Here’s a bit of that proclamation:

This Holy Week, my Administration renews its promise to defend the Christian faith in our schools, military, workplaces, hospitals, and halls of government.  We will never waver in safeguarding the right to religious liberty, upholding the dignity of life, and protecting God in our public square.

As we focus on Christ’s redeeming sacrifice, we look to His love, humility, and obedience—even in life’s most difficult and uncertain moments.  This week, we pray for an outpouring of the Holy Spirit upon our beloved Nation.  We pray that America will remain a beacon of faith, hope, and freedom for the entire world, and we pray to achieve a future that reflects the truth, beauty, and goodness of Christ’s eternal kingdom in Heaven.

And, then the following DAY, on Monday, the President met with the President of El Salvador.  That visit included time with the press—perhaps you’ve seen some of it.  And, during that time, the Kilmar Obrego Garcia situation came up, the man who was mistakenly deported to a prison in El Salvador.  There were a lot of noteworthy dimensions of the ensuing conversation, if you will, that were disconcerting and unsettling, but for me, I noticed how Mr. Obrego Garcia was talked about and treated as if he were not quite fully human.  There was not one shred, not one hint, of compassion for this individual, his family, his situation.  The disconnect with the lofty notion of the US being a beacon of faith, hope and freedom, and the reality of what’s happening with immigration is astonishing.

Christians around the world gather today to declare a bold Alleluia in response to the amazing and remarkable story of our resurrected Messiah.  Many will wonder and debate what truly happened on that first Easter.  Some will maybe not think about it so much, just going through the motions of what seems expected of them.  Some will make bold assertions and then declare that those who are not able to make the same are somehow not worthy of God’s love.

The challenge of Easter—this Easter, last Easter, next Easter, the first Easter—is to recognize and appreciate that this isn’t about one single, mysterious, earth-shattering event.  It’s about a whole bunch of mysterious, earth-shattering events, when we realize that resurrection is really about a whole bunch of moments that pull us in and then ask the same terrible question, “Why are you looking for the living among the dead?”

So much of our lives, whether we realize it or not, are spent in that not so wondrous and inspiring place, looking for the wrong thing. We want things to be not so challenging.  We generally want life to be winsome, easy-going, inoffensive. That’s fine for a movie.  It’s not when it comes to faith.

Our faith calls us in to ask us this question that will move us out of ourselves and the small tombs that outline our lives, pushing us into a new awareness that is life-giving and life-affirming, but also hard and demanding, often asking that we engage fully, joyfully and unabashedly with a Savior who, at first, looked to have been defeated, crushed by the then Empire.  But through suffering and profound agony, offered a new way, a reminder that God’s intentions for humanity are not to be found in the earthly ways of power and authority— of Empire— but in service, in relationship, in community, in a love that pushes us into ways of being that so often makes us squirm.

We are called to ask ourselves the question:  Why do we look for new life in the midst of old, tired ways of being?  Why do we look for assurance in trampling on the humanity of those who seem different from us, instead of following Jesus’s example of compassion and community?  Why do we look for safety and security in the creation of the “other” who can then be treated as somehow “less than,” rather than pursuing justice through respect, dignity, and compassion for all people?  Why do we look for the living among the dead? 

To declare ourselves Easter people is to recognize—maybe for the first time, maybe for the 100th—that we follow a savior who is always just ahead of us (did you notice that the Risen Christ isn’t even in today’s scripture passage?) beckoning us to follow, even into the challenging dimensions of life and faith, that, while difficult, are fulfilling, rewarding and life-affirming.  Our Savior is not to be found in the old and dead places, but in the moving forward, with all of our doubts and uncertainties, with all of our wavering, yet willing to take the risks of faith, a willingness to offend those in positions of power and authority, to offend those who wish to build a hierarchy of persons, with only some deserving of respect, to offend those who claim the title “Christian,” but then act consistently in ways that undermine the essential qualities of the Christian faith.

The invitation today is an amazing one, but it is also a daunting one.  Yet, it doesn’t take much looking around to realize how significant it is to be about this holy work, of following, even as we falter and stumble, as we strive: to see each person as a created child of God, and to demand that others do so as well; and, to feel and to know that the faith that is here in this sanctuary among these our friends and companions, that we may then go out of these doors, to live as compassionate people who see the dignity and worth of each person.

That is the invitation. That is the call.

Thankfully, we don’t do it alone. We have each other and we have Christ as our companion.

Let us trust that Christ indeed is with us. Amen.

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That Helpless and Hopeless Feeling

Posted on April 16, 2025 by smaxreisert

A week ago Saturday, I attended the Augusta, Maine version of a Hands Off Rally. Everyone seemed so awed by the thousands of people who showed up on a overcast, chilly and raw day. In applying for a permit, the organizers had estimated six hundred attendees. The count was around 3,000, in little old Augusta in little and (literally) old Central Maine. People waved their clever signs, some elaborately done and others scrawled on an old piece of cardboard with a dying Sharpie in the parking lot just before the rally began. I can’t say mine was the most original, but I wasn’t the only one to assert that maybe Maine should become a part of Canada:

The rally featured a lot of cheering and chanting, with a general air of excitement and anticipation. After a long stretch of speakers, the crowd went on walkabout, around the block, along a couple of busy streets, early on a busy Saturday afternoon. Although there were a couple of cars (full of young men, I noticed) who made it clear that they were not in agreement with the ragtag crowd chanting things like, “This is what democracy looks like,” most of the occupants of vehicles seemed to be eager to show their support. They honked their horns and offered thumbs up, etc. It certainly felt good to be in the midst of such a swell of humanity staking a claim on what now seems in short supply— decency, dignity, respect, and love toward self, neighbor, community and world.

When my friend and I walked back to the car, she said something like, “So, now what?”

And, that’s when the little bubble of hopefulness that had been constructed in the midst of the rally burst. It wasn’t the first time something like that had happened, although, truth be told, most days just involve the hopeless and helpless part and none of the excitement of the Hands Off rally. It’s clear enough that there’s not much that can be done, not much at all. We can attend more rallies. We can wring our hands. We can speak up and out. We can call the offices of our elected officials. We can pray. We can wait for the midterm elections and get more involved.

Not much of it feels especially hopeful or helpful, in terms of making any kind of meaningful change to the strange, increasingly harsh and authoritarian universe we now appear to inhabit. The bits of news that I consume (from the New York Times, the Boston Globe, The New Yorker, and even The Economist, that I read mostly online, to the video pieces from the PBS NewsHour, CNN and even Fox, just to mix it up a bit) all signal to me that we now living not only in a new and difficult time, but a dangerous one.

I was especially alarmed by the spectacle from the White House, on Monday, of the President of El Salvador and President Trump, both of them practically giddy at the prospect of being able to wash their hands of the terrible miscarriage of justice when an administrative error led to the wrongful deportation of Kilmar Armando Abrego Garcia to the infamously horrific prison CECOT in El Salvador, while Stephen Miller spewed lies and distortions. Miller was vociferous in maintaining that Mr. Abrego Garcia is a terrorist, even though there is no evidence to back up that claim. Then, there was the line-up of administration stooges all trying to one-up each other in backing up the lies, while also praising their glorious leader. Not one person expressed even a shred of remorse for the man’s plight, or for his family. Worse still, there was the suggestion, made by Trump himself, that El Salvador should build even more large prisons, so that the US can send “home-grown” bad guys, with sense that the assessment of “bad” belongs to the Administration. Having one’s day in court may be coming to an end for all of us.

I could begin a list here of all of the other things that I find unsettling, like the assault on the great state of Maine and Trump’s narcissistic need for constant praise and declaring his policies and actions as the best ever, “like nobody has ever seen” (good thing I didn’t start a drinking game related to this sentiment). To set out to build such a list would only make me even more hopeless and helpless, while also taking up a crazy amount of space.

That we are still in early days is close to overwhelming. And, it’s not just the shift in policies and practices, and the roller coaster ride regarding tariffs that hints at complete incompetence, but the profound shift in tone. It’s a small thing, to be sure, but I find it unconscionable that Trump and his minions are still beating up on Joe Biden. As if we need any other signs or signals, but this offers yet another clue to the fraying and fracturing of basic human decency. It’s also disturbing to witness the President’s need for every country on earth, except for maybe Russia, to bow down to the United States, in subservience and awe of the power and greatness of the US, asserting that to be in good relationship with the US essentially means that other countries must forfeit their dignity and their own sense of place on the global stage.

With Trump in office, there’s a lot of the Make America Great Again slogan, from the President himself as well as his enthusiasts. But, it’s hard to understand what’s so great about any of this. Is is great to lie and distort? Is it great to strip people of their dignity and due process? Is it great to parade power and to demand loyalty and subservience? Is it great to show not one iota of compassion regarding the mistreatment of other people by our own government? Is it great to treat those who disagree with utter contempt?

I’m not sure where all of this will go, but I feel especially mindful of the stark contrasts of story as we are now in the midst of Holy Week. For a President and an Administration of people who claim close ties to Christianity (although, I’ll note here that the large cross that once dangled around the neck of the press secretary seems to have disappeared), it’s mind-boggling to have such incongruity when it comes to notions of power, status, loyalty, etc. It’s not that I think the US ought to be a more clearly Christian country, but when the leaders of the country make such bold assertions about their Christian faith, how in the world can basic elements of that faith be so absent from their rhetoric and actions?

So, I’m feeling hopeless and helpless. But, I’m also aware that it’s not a bad thing to admit to such feelings, particularly during Holy Week. There’s a whole lot of helplessness and hopelessness in the stories that we consider and pray over during this momentous time. Perhaps leaning into the hopelessness and helplessness will lead to a new awareness of the Easter message, and the reality of Easter.

I can only hope.

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Losing Our Humanity

Posted on March 17, 2025 by smaxreisert

In the ceaseless barrage that has become an element of our everyday lives since the inauguration of the current president, it’s been difficult to figure out how to respond, how to cope, how to think about it all, how to resist. The one thing after another approach is, by design, dizzying, so it’s no wonder that it’s become a challenge to focus on any one thing, let alone more than one thing.

One of the issues that keeps popping up for me, waving at me for attention, is the assault on our basic humanity. For much of my adult life, it has felt like we have been able, generally speaking, to acknowledge and appreciate the dignity of persons. We have been able— again, generally speaking—to perceive our common humanity, despite obvious and not so obvious differences among us.

Here’s just one example from the church I have served since 2005. When Old South began the process of considering an Open and Affirming statement, in 2007 (I think), there was an interesting array of responses to the process. There were some people who were very eager to discuss and then fashion a statement. There were other people who were not so eager, but recognized the significance of such a statement (especially in the very open and welcoming community of Hallowell, Maine). And, then there were those who wanted just to adopt a statement without any discussion (do we really need to talk about this?). And, there were a few who really struggled with the issue.

Except for a very small number of people (three, if I remember correctly) who chose to leave rather than consider such a statement on welcoming the LBGTQ community (as well as a whole host of other people, like those who are divorced, those who have never married, etc), most people in the church were willing to engage in the process. I remember hearing, from time to time, the sentiment that the whole homosexual thing— and even more so, the transgender thing—was mysterious and hard to understand. Yet, it was also clear that most people understood that we were, and are, called to recognize the basic humanity of each person, that each person is loved by God, that we are to treat others as we wish to be treated. You know, like Jesus taught. Eventually, most people at Old South came to understand that the essential issue was not to “get it.” Instead, we were (and still are) called to love and to welcome. Just as each person wishes to be loved and welcomed.

At the time and in the years that followed, it felt like Old South was something of a microcosm of what was happening in other places around the country. There may be aspects of life that are mysterious to us, there may be people who completely baffle us, but each person is a human being and is deserving of dignity and respect. It is this acknowledgment of basic humanity that allowed a great swath of Americans, over a rather remarkable short period of time, to accept big changes in our culture, like gay marriage.

And, now . . .

There are so many examples of the current administration heaving any recognition of the Christian (and other religions too) call for a sense of basic humanity, loving neighbor, treating others as we wish to be treated— despite the ties to Christianity of so many who work with and for the Mr. Trump. A few weeks ago, the press secretary disparaged federal workers who did not want to take the administration’s buy-out deal, as individuals who were bent on “ripping off” the American people. It appears that there’s a policy that requires Republicans to refer to Sarah McBride, an elected representative from Delaware, with male pronouns and male-oriented titles. The President, as well as Republican lawmakers, have engaged in vicious insults and name-calling. This, of course, is nothing new to the President, but it seems like he all-too-eagerly now seeks to dismiss and denigrate certain individuals, and entire groups of people, even when they are not the subject of conversation), and the members of his party are completely falling in line.

We are losing so much in such a short period of time.

And, in the midst of all of the loss, we are losing our humanity.

If one bothers to listen closely, you can probably hear the lament of our God.

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May Resistance Not Be Futile

Posted on February 28, 2025 by smaxreisert

In the television series Star Trek: The Next Generation, one of the most villainous and terrifying of all of the strange new civilizations that the crew of the Enterprise boldly encountered was The Borg. The Borg was a collective of beings, part human-ish and part technology, that sought to assimilate others into their “hive.” The Borg were known to declare, when other beings showed reluctance to join up with The Borg, that “resistance is futile.”

I think of the Borg a lot these days, especially around the notion of resistance. I’ve noticed that resistance has become a motto, a declaration, a pronouncement, in response to the Trump administration— its policies, procedures and pronouncements. As I approach and depart from Old South, for instance, there’s a homeowner with a yard sign that simply says, “Resist!” Then, there’s the order of spices I received from Penzey’s, with a free small pouch of some sort of spice blend labeled “Resist!” And, there’s Maine’s brave governor who, when confronted with Trump’s unreasonable and unlawful demands, declared, “See you in court!” Alright, it’s not exactly “resist,” but it’s close enough.

And last Sunday, I found myself pondering resistance during my sermon. The scripture was Luke 6:27-38, part of the Sermon on the Plain in which Jesus talks about how God’s children are expected to behave— love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, etc. The teaching offers a clear and decided directive on grace, generosity of spirit, and loving beyond the normal human instincts to love. Good relationships are not based on the transactional— you give to me and I’ll give something comparable back to you. Instead, good relationships, good community, are found in love, respect and extravagant generosity:

 “But I say to you who are willing to hear: Love your enemies. Do good to those who hate you. Bless those who curse you. Pray for those who mistreat you.  If someone slaps you on the cheek, offer the other one as well. If someone takes your coat, don’t withhold your shirt either.  Give to everyone who asks and don’t demand your things back from those who take them. Treat people in the same way that you want them to treat you. “If you love those who love you, why should you be commended? Even sinners love those who love them.  If you do good to those who do good to you, why should you be commended? Even sinners do that.  (Luke 6:27-33, CEB)

Yet, on the national stage we have a President who is not at all concerned with love and generosity. Instead, we have a President who is utterly and completely transactional. While a president can pursue whatever policies and decisions he deems important, presumably putting into action what the voters voted for, this particular President has a whole bunch of so-called Christians backing him, working with him, cheering him on, influencing him, etc.

So, what’s going on here? How can these supposed Christians, especially those who love talking about their “faith” and their “religion” as fundamental to who they are and how they serve the public, support policies, procedures and behaviors that are so clearly in tension with the basic teachings of Jesus?

Those who perceive themselves to be children of God, who appreciate the connection they have to the Divine, recognizing and understanding the significance of the life of faith, presumably endeavor to behave as such and to live their lives in close connection to the ways of love as Jesus taught. People of faith ought to be willing and even eager to live lives of love.  And, the simple truth is: there’s nothing transactional about God’s love.  If we desire to behave as God’s children, as God’s people, we appreciate that we are called to live lives of love and generosity. At the same time, we are not taught to lives of passivity or being constant doormats in the competitive and harsh realities of life. “Turning the other cheek” is not about being passive, it’s about resistance in the face of injustice.

In these days, then, Christians ought to feel drawn to active resistance in the face of the emptiness and waywardness of always looking to balance what I/we give with what I/we get back.  To live as God’s people means that we see and treat everyone as a person created in God’s image, always seeking goodness, mercy and justice, the highest good, for each one and for all.

I’m not exactly sure how exactly I’ll be resisting and I’ll admit a bit of concern that my resistance may end up in the futility category. But, my faith has laid a clear path. There really is no other way.

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Land of the Hyprocrites

Posted on February 8, 2025 by smaxreisert

It’s been almost three weeks since the inauguration of our not so new president. It’s been almost three weeks of remarkable silence, or brazenly misleading wishful thinking rationalizations, especially from one sizable group that loomed large throughout campaign season and seems to have been incredibly active in getting this president elected, regarding one particularly striking element of the inaugural ceremony.

Given the onslaught of executive orders and the “muzzle velocity” (term used by Steve Bannon) attack on government function in the same almost three weeks, it’s not surprising that this one striking element has been lost in the shuffle, inadvertently or willfully. It’s a moment that, had it happened with Joe Biden or Barack Obama or any other Democrat, would have been covered 24-hours a day for days and days in certain corners of the news media. In this instance, though, the silence, or small bit of explaining away, has betrayed Trump and Trump enthusiasts for what they are: hypocrites. It’s not like such thoughts were not already swirling around. It’s just clearer now.

Here’s the thing. You might have missed it, especially if you, like me, worked diligently to ignore Inauguration Day. But, something happened that day that has been shockingly ignored, something that ought to be causing a great of concern to anyone who claims that their Christian faith is important AND that Donald Trump has been singularly called by God to “Make America Great Again.”

As he was being sworn into office, Mr. Trump did not place his hand on the Bible. Check out the top photo of this article.

It’s not that everyone failed to notice. Some people did notice, but were quick to dismiss its significance. Franklin Graham, who gave the invocation for the inaugural ceremony, blamed Chief Justice John Roberts for moving too quickly, claiming that the “he started administering the oath before Melania even got up there with the Bibles.” [here’s a link to an interview with Franklin Graham] Does Franklin Graham not know how photos work? The photo clearly shows Mrs. Trump standing there with the Bibles and Mr. Trump standing there with his right hand up, and his left hand at his side. Other prominent evangelical Christians have also been quick to note that the lack of the left hand on the Bibles is “not a concern,” declaring that Mr. Trump somehow may not have seen his wife (maybe he didn’t recognize her under that strange hat?) because he was so focused on the Chief Justice and taking the oath.

There’s just one word: hypocrites.

In the barrage of major announcements and sweeping plans to disable, bend and/or break various elements of the government, it’s no wonder that there’s been little in the way of discussion regarding the placement of Trump’s left hand when he was sworn in. There’s no requirement for a hand to be placed on the Bible, after all.

It is an incredibly despairing moment, though, albeit in a sea of despairing moments, that we have experienced over the last almost three weeks. It’s still more despairing that this incident will not only be forgotten, explained away with casual disregard, but will be ignored by those who ought to be taking it seriously, as a signal that what they believe to be true simply isn’t. For a man who claims that he was saved by God himself to do the work that he is now doing, how can those so-called Christians who voted for him not take issue with the fact that he did not swear his oath with his hand on the Bible, in a display of respect of and some level of deference to God?

And, even if it’s true that the Chief Justice moved quickly, why didn’t this supposedly God-fearing President not pause the moment to wait until the Bibles (there were two) were within reach? Why are all of those so-called evangelical Christians and the like not demanding an accounting, demanding that Mr. Trump explain himself?

Hypocrites.

I realize that there’s a lot going on, and that much of what’s going on is music to the ears of conservative Christians. Yet, by not taking any sort of issue with what happened at the inaugural ceremony, those same Christians fall still further from the faith to which they think they cling. Jesus had serious words to say about hypocrites, including a warning that, while they may look beautiful on the outside, they are actually like whitewashed tombs full of dead bones. (Matthew 23:27-28) Not taking the oath with one’s hand on the Bible may not signal whitewashed tombs of dead bones, but the question is too important not to be asked.

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When the Quality of Mercy Is Decidedly Strained

Posted on January 29, 2025 by smaxreisert

“The quality of mercy is not strained.
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.”

William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice

Who knew that mercy would be such a hot topic? And, who knew that a request for mercy could lead to such anger and outrage?

The past week has held a lot of news coverage and commentary over the remarks of The Right Rev. Marriann Budde during her sermon that was part of an inaugural prayer service, in which she spoke directly to the President to offer a plea for mercy for those in this country “who are scared now”— gays, lesbians, transgender folk, laborers, asylum seekers, etc. The newly sworn-in President has demanded an apology. A senator from Ohio declared that the remarks were an “insult to all of us who came to this country the right way.” And a representative from Georgia said that Bishop Budde should be added to the deportation list.

Among the many problems embedded in this odd episode are two very big ones. First, for a political party that so often claims to be aligned with conservative Christians, how can a plea for mercy garner such scathing hostility? The second problem is an alarming lack of awareness of the role of the clergy, especially when clergy speak from the pulpit. Again, for a political party that claims to hold dear basic Christian tenets, with a leader that once stood in front of a church defiantly holding a Holy Bible, how can there be such disregard for the sacred role of ordained preachers?

Mr. Trump and his buddies don’t need to agree with this particular clergyperson. They don’t need to heed her advice or her plea. But when they are sitting in that church during a worship service, they ought to respect the office and the pastoral role, recognizing that Christian clergy are called to speak— in love, in hope, in authenticity, after careful study and prayer, without fear, all the while grounded in scripture. Christian clergy are not beholden to political parties or those in positions of political power. A clergyperson’s authority comes from a higher source, as we mere mortals attempt to discern through the lens of faith. While clergy ought to be respectful of the community to which they speak (the powerful, the not powerful, and everyone in between), and it seems clear enough that Bishop Budde was respectful and measured in the direct plea that she made, it’s a grave mistake for anyone to expect clergy to bow to the intentions and attitudes of the audience/congregation, even those in high elected office. In fact, political leaders should appreciate that clergy are often called to challenge and to hold up patterns and policies that are lacking in justice. It’s what Jesus did, time and time again.

In a service of ordination, clergy are generally (to my understanding) called to make certain promises regarding their vocation. Among those promises: the continued study of holy scripture; the preaching of the Good News; and prayerful attention to the needs of the congregation, the community and the wider world. For those of us bold and/or foolish enough to follow the call to ordained ministry, preaching is a sobering and weighty undertaking. That the current President and his allies fail to comprehend that role, and that call, is a sad commentary on how they view the Christian faith in general.

It’s especially concerning that the criticism of Bishop Budde is so focused on her plea for mercy. It turns out that mercy is a big Bible kind of word. It’s mentioned a bunch of times— “Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy” (Matthew 5:7); “ For judgment will be without mercy to anyone who has shown no mercy; mercy triumphs over judgment” (James 2:13); “Let us therefore approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need” (Hebrews 4:16). Those are just a few of many examples.

Mercy is almost always cast as a sort of double blessing, as the Bible and Shakespeare have noted, that to show mercy is to receive mercy. Mercy offers its own kind of special grace, giving just as much, if not more, in the giving than in the receiving. It’s too bad that this situation has been met with such vitriol. While the President may feel those who elected him expect certain policies to be put into place, a bit of mercy would be a good thing— for everyone. After all, isn’t that what Mr. Trump is claiming he experienced on that July day in Butler, Pennsylvania? If that was a moment of divine grace and mercy that dropped from heaven, Mr. Trump should be more obviously offering at least a bit of mercy in response.

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Me and My Misanthropy

Posted on January 15, 2025 by smaxreisert

Confession/Admission: I’ve always been a bit of a misanthrope, suspicious of my fellow human beings, and sometimes just downright untrusting and disliking of them. When I completed my required-for-ordination unit of Clinical Pastoral Education at Brigham & Women’s Hospital in Boston way back in the summer of 1991, trust was the biggest issue that my supervisor highlighted. I needed to work on my trust issues, she informed me. It continues to be a struggle, especially since there’s so much that feeds (legitimately, I believe, at least at times) my tendencies to be suspicious of others, and to generally not like many of them (or worse, as in the case with some prominent public figures).

For my entire adulthood and most of my youth, I have perceived my faith as a counterbalance to my natural inclinations toward misanthropy. Jesus encourages me to see people differently, to see each person as a child of God. And that I have tried to do. Jesus has taught me to love God with all of my heart, soul, mind and strength, and my neighbor as myself. Helpfully, some wise person noted that Jesus taught that we must love our neighbors and that loving is different from liking. This, I have also endeavored to follow and to allow that teaching, that commandment, to inform how I live my life.

But, now I’m struggling more than ever, as we approach January 20, 2025 and Inauguration Day (my daughter’s friends are calling it Innauseation Day), the swearing in as president a man I loathe— a convicted felon, a misogynist, a person who revels in name-calling and other forms of excessive meanness, a man willing to encourage an insurrection when he didn’t get his way, a man who appears to believe that he’s never made a mistake. These are not my opinions. They are all backed up with video, audio, and various forms of social media, many items posted by the man himself.

I am not only wresting with the loathing I feel for the incoming president, but there’s also a fair amount of loathing directed at my fellow Americans, for this time the president assumes office not because of the strange ways of the Electoral College, but with the popular vote. Grasping at feeble strands of comfort, I find a bit of solace in living in a blue state. Sure, Maine might be only barely blue, but: a. It is blue (for now, at least, although Trump won the county in which I live), and, b. I am surrounded by a lot of blue, living in the Northeast, with other (mostly) states/people who are not drawn in by name-calling, meanness, misogyny, and the demonizing of others. Still, there are plenty of Trump voters around and I’m finding it increasingly difficult to tone down the deep feelings of anger, suspicion and bitterness I feel toward them.

I find myself in territory where it’s hard for me to know how to be, what to do, etc. There are so many misanthropic thoughts floating around in my head as we approach The Day, next Monday. And, to complicate things still further is that I serve as a pastor and teacher of a small church where people turn to me for guidance. How do I grapple with my loathing for Mr. Trump, Trump voters and worse still, Trump enthusiasts, in the midst of a community of faith, a church in which we are taught to love God AND neighbor, when the loving, but not necessarily liking, isn’t really working?

In the past, when an Inauguration Day loomed that involved the swearing in of a president for whom I didn’t vote, there’s been plenty of dislike and disgust. This time is different in that the misanthropy that is rising to the surface, that I’m trying to beat back each and every day, involves so many more people. It’s not simply that I share community with people with whom I disagree (after all, I live in a household with at least one person who usually votes differently than I do). Now it feels like there’s a deep and wide gulf in how we perceive and appreciate basic human values.

Shortly after the election, there was an especially poignant essay published by the New York Times, written by Naomi Beinart, “I’m 16. On Nov.6 the Girls Cried, and the Boys Played Minecraft” (11/16/24). Despite the gap in our ages, I felt a kinship to the woes Ms. Beinart expressed: “We girls woke up to a country that would rather elect a man found liable for sexual abuse than a woman. Where the kind of man my mother instructs me to cross the street to avoid will be addressed as Mr. President.” That half of the country finds this man fit to lead the country, while the other half believes (and knows, given the easily available evidence) that he should be in prison, or at least shunned because of his views on just about every group and every person who doesn’t look like him or have the same sort of body parts, feels profoundly alienating and disturbing.

I may very well find a way to avoid the ceremony of Innauseation Day, but there will be lots of days after that and I can’t avoid all of them. My life and my profession won’t allow that. Will my faith continue to serve as a counterbalance to my misanthropy or will the weight of attitudes and actions by the incoming administration, buoyed by its supporters and devotees, be too much for my faith to bear?

Help me, Jesus, help me.

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